Notes on Our Life in Today’s China
/My husband Rene Pastor and I went to China in May of 2019. He was hired as a senior business editor at China Daily (CD), the country’s largest English language newspaper with a circulation of almost a million copies. We were excited and ignored friends’ gentle warning about China being a Communist country. When we arrived in Beijing, the China that greeted us was a country so glossy, upbeat, and modern. No traces of the Marxist in the Mao Zedong-era of the ‘60s and ‘70s wearing gray slacks and reading Little Red Books. Instead, they were reading from their cell phones and dressed in fashionable clothing no different from what New Yorkers wore. Some spoke English, many did not.
The pandemic that erupted in the country in late 2019 changed my plans. I was supposed to go to school to learn the language. Instead, I was hired as an online editor when some of the expat editors couldn’t return to Beijing after the borders were sealed. Working for CD, we became part of a pool of foreign editors that took turns writing for the daily column called Second Thoughts. The essays in our book, Living in China 2019-2023: A COVID Diary, appeared first in that column.
We were home by 2023 just as COVID was on the retreat.
•••
Women increasingly say “bu yao (I don’t want)” to marriage.
My friend Dolly is getting married in April. But if COVID-19 numbers continue to rise, there’s a chance the wedding may be postponed. The gregarious Dolly is unworried. By Chinese law, she is already considered married, having secured a matrimonial certificate from the Civil Affairs Bureau. In fact, she refers to her boyfriend as “my husband” to her friends. The wedding is just a formality—a celebration for family and loved ones to mark their special day.
In today’s Chinese society, Dolly, a website editor, seems to be part of a diminishing breed. Surveys and oft-repeated anecdotes show how more and more Chinese women are saying wo bu yao (I don’t want) to marriage. In a society that has remained family-oriented at its core, where the state wants its population of 1.41 billion (according to the seventh national population census) to rebound, women shying away from marriage is not the direction the country hopes for.
A recent survey of 2,905 women (aged 18-26) by China’s Communist Youth League revealed an emerging profile of today’s urban women. Forty-four percent of female respondents did not intend to get married, citing reasons such as not having the time or energy to marry, difficulty finding the right person, the financial cost of marriage, the economic burden of having children, not believing in marriage, and never having been in love.
A wedding boutique opens.
I don’t see my friend reflected in this survey. Dolly holds a good-paying job and appears financially independent. She and her boyfriend have purchased a condo and, with their joint resources, are building their starter home—one appliance at a time. “Never been in love?” She’s head over heels. This young woman, who decided her free-spirited days were behind her, is simply ready to settle down.
Weddings – from gowns to receptions to honeymoon packages to photography -- are a rapidly growing market in China.
Wedding gowns are sold at this coffee shop in Tianjin.
On the other hand, there’s marriage-averse Lily. Her story seems to reflect the Communist Youth League survey. She fears that getting married would cramp her lifestyle as a world traveler. Japan was her last vacation in 2019 before COVID-19 hit. She’d like to visit Eastern Europe next. Independence and freedom are important to her. Marriage, raising a family, and caring for a child are not her priorities. The thought of possibly living with in-laws scares her more than flying on an accident-prone Airbus 320. She worries that she and her future husband may not be able to afford to raise a well-educated child. She admits to constant family pressure asking if she has a boyfriend, but she’s learned to laugh it off.
Dolly and Lily are the same age—both in their late 20s—but they have opposite ways of thinking. One is ready to settle down with a husband, bear children, raise a family, and grow old together. The other, with an equally fulfilling career, prefers to stay unmoored and constantly on the move. Two different women pursuing divergent pathways. Neither one’s better than the other.
Wedding pictorial for a fashion magazine at a Hutong
The outlook calling for greater independence seems to resonate more with millennial urban Chinese women. Finances appear to be the biggest deterrent. Many women would rather spend their savings on pursuits that bring them joy, such as going back to school for an advanced degree, opening a business, doing volunteer work, or traveling.
There is something to be said about how some Chinese women are departing from their mothers’ journeys from a generation ago and are instead attempting to carve out their own identities.
—Cristina DC Pastor, April 12, 2022
•••
‘Ting bu dong,’ my lifeline in China.
In my first year in Beijing, I signed up for Chinese language classes at a community center in Maizidian. Every other day, I’d board a packed bus for a 30-minute ride beyond Solana Mall, then squeeze into a usually crowded classroom on the second floor of the building. I’d be surrounded by other expats and university students, all reading from a Living Chinese workbook, repeating the teacher’s words, taking notes, putting sentences together, and practicing pronunciation. It’s exhilarating to learn a new language—like stepping into another persona and assuming a different identity.
Then I’d take the bus home. When I arrived at our apartment, I’d make a big show of what I had learned in class.
“Caidan, fuwuyuan (The menu, please, waiter).”
I was mighty proud of myself! And then the pandemic happened. In lockdown, with no one to speak to, the few words I had picked up evaporated from my memory and were completely forgotten.
But there are three words I’ve retained and kept in my heart because I knew I’d need them to survive Beijing: “Ting bu dong,” meaning “I do not understand.” These three words have served me so many times, with conviction and sometimes without much care. They carry a vast ocean of meaning.
I use it mostly with Didi drivers who ask me questions I truly don’t understand. “Ting bu dong, uncle.” The driver would usually let out a chuckle, repeat the phrase with the correct Chinese accent, and continue driving quietly to my destination.
Every time I say “Ting bu dong,” I get one of the following reactions: a smile of understanding, complete silence, a chortle, or the other person picking up their phone to translate.
I’ve used “Ting bu dong” on almost everyone, and it’s been used on me, too, by some who think I speak English too fast or sound incomprehensible. There was a Chinese boy in the neighborhood who, when I greeted him with “Hello, how are you?” responded with “Ting bu dong.” Hah! The shoe is on the other foot, I thought, a laugh bubbling up inside me.
Sometimes, I didn’t mean to come across as standoffish. What I really wanted to say was something like this: Ting bu dong, but please speak slowly so I can understand you. Or Ting bu dong, I hope you can patiently explain what you mean. Or Ting bu dong, I want to understand you, and I want to have a conversation with you. Maybe we can be friends?
I kept reminding myself that “ting bu dong” doesn’t have to be just a throwaway phrase I use because I don’t understand what’s being said. It could be the opening to a conversation that may later develop into a personal connection.
But in trying to find the words, I struggle with two languages and often settle for the easiest one that comes to mind. Learning a second language is said to be great exercise for the brain, and Mandarin has certainly given me a high-intensity workout.
Truth be told, I don’t enjoy saying “ting bu dong” because I like chatting with taxi drivers. In New York City, the Yellow cabbies are such engaging storytellers, hilariously opinionated about everything from crime to politics to pizza.
Neighbors pass the time playing cards.
I remember a South Asian cab driver who was so proud of how he came to the U.S. He settled in Queens, petitioned for his family from Bangladesh after being legalized, and now has a daughter studying to be a lawyer at Fordham. Just one of the many feel-good stories I’ve heard as a passenger.
I’m sure that many Chinese cab drivers also have inspiring stories they’d love to share with strangers—except that language is a barrier that takes time to break down.
—Cristina DC Pastor, March 3, 2022
•••
The long quest for size 14 sneakers.
I had a hard time shopping for sneakers in China. I’ve been to dozens of stores—Converse, Nike, Adidas—in malls all over the city. No luck.
The problem, of course, is my feet. I wear a size 14, and I also need a wide fit with plenty of wiggle room for my toes. A few years ago, I bought a pair of tight-fitting sneakers in Hong Kong. That decision turned into a disaster. The cramped fit caused an ingrown toenail, a painful condition where the nail digs into the soft side tissue of the toe.
I can’t count how many times I jammed my toes against tables or sidewalks while walking in Hong Kong. The resulting pain was excruciating, like being stabbed in the foot, with the agony shooting up my leg and making me double over.
By the time I returned to the United States, the issue had gotten so bad that I had to see a foot doctor. First, he numbed the pain with an injection. Then, wielding what seemed like a meat cleaver, he sliced away the nail. It took months to fully recover.
Fast forward to Beijing. After a year of walking all over the city in pleasant weather, my trusty Converse sneakers were worn out. I launched an earnest hunt for replacements, but frustration quickly set in. The biggest size available in most sneaker stores was size 11 or 12—far too small for me.
The solution to my dilemma came unexpectedly. I decided to accompany my wife to the Roundabout charity store in Cathay View Plaza, on the road to the airport in the Shunyi district.
Roundabout charity store in Shunyi district where expats donate their stuff before departing Beijing. Photo: Roundabout website.
It’s exhilarating to learn a new language—like stepping into another persona and assuming a different identity.
From the front gate of China Daily, you could take bus No. 696. After a little over an hour, you’d arrive at your destination.
The store was a place where expats would drop off clothes, shoes, and other items they no longer needed or wanted. The proceeds went to charity. It was just a few steps from Didi Supermarket, and it reminded me of the Salvation Army stores in the U.S.—popular spots for hand-me-downs.
Rummaging quickly, I spotted a stylish pair of black Air Versatile II sneakers with an orange sole and the classic Nike Swoosh design. They were made in Vietnam and sized 14.
Trying them on was a breeze. My Cinderella feet slid right in, and they felt like glass slippers.
Then, I spotted a golden soccer cleat, which also fit snugly, and it was sized 13.
I grabbed both pairs like relics from the Holy Land, afraid someone else might snatch them up.
The sneakers were the answer to a long search, and I never expected to find them at a small flea market in Shunyi District. The price was also surprisingly low. The shoes cost 60 yuan ($9.30) each, totaling 120 yuan. I did some mental math, converting the amount into dollars—it came to under $20 for both pairs.
I had seen sneakers in Sanlitun or other malls in Beijing priced at 300 to 500 yuan per pair.
One Chinese friend was shocked when he saw the shoes, and I told him they cost only 60 yuan. He muttered, “How in the world did you find those?”
All I could do was smile. I felt on top of the world.
—Rene Pastor, May 25, 2021
To buy the book: https://www.amazon.com/Living-China-2019-2023-COVID/dp/B0F31CLWHS/ref=sr_1_1?crid=1031D64V8VKYL&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.FI7haCF8TAY3Ylj5ZkjjuZJ-lPxBm6XXb8MyFl6zTQc.F3OQTldr2DGUL07ZhnqZQ7FcKUbjMdThMb2EGHcd0NA&dib_tag=se&keywords=cristina+dc+pastor&qid=1747952221&sprefix=cristina+dc+pastor%2Caps%2C199&sr=8-1
Cristina DC Pastor is the founding editor of The FilAm newspaper published out of New York City. She co-founded Makilala TV, the first and longest running (10 years) FilAm television talk show in the New York area.
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